


what once was mine

by mxntparnasse



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, Tangled (2010)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, its cute i swear, mother Gothel is still a piece of shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:36:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5572912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxntparnasse/pseuds/mxntparnasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the plot and most of the dialogue of tangled, because i'm a slut for disney</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens. From this small drop of sun grew a magical golden flower with the ability to heal the sick and injured. Centuries passed, and a kingdom grew across the water. The kingdom was ruled by a beloved king and queen. The queen was about to have a baby- and then she fell ill. Deathly ill.  She was running out of time, and that’s when people usually start to look for a miracle. Or, in this case, a magic golden flower.  
Someone, however, had beaten them to it. Mother Gothel, an old woman when the flower had first grown, had hoarded its healing power to keep herself young for centuries. All she had to do was sing.   
_Flower, gleam and glow_  
 _Let your power shine_  
 _Make the clock reverse_  
 _Bring back what once was mine_  
It would turn her gray hair black, bring back the plumpness of her cheeks and softness of her voice, and stop the trembling in her hands, though it could never take the wild look from her eyes.   
It was an accident, really, that the kingdom's guards found it. A careless error in covering up the flower that would spell her downfall.   
But find it they did, and a healthy baby boy- the prince- was born with a full head of beautiful copper hair.  To celebrate his birth, the King and Queen launched a flying lantern into the sky. And for that one moment, everything was perfect.  
Then that moment ended.  
Mother Gothel was desperate to keep living. So much so that in the dead of night she stole into the baby prince's chamber to cut a lock of sunlight for herself. She sang as she worked, partially to calm the startled child and keep him from crying and partially to make sure his hair still shone like the flower had.   
As soon as the scissors closed on the shimmering strands, they turned the color of driven snow. Useless. What else was there for her to do but steal the prince instead?  
The kingdom searched and searched but they couldn't find the prince. Deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, Gothel raised the child as her own.


	2. Chapter 2

Jehan was perched on the small footstool in front of Mother's chair, hair glowing like it had been set aflame.  
"Heal what has been hurt, change the fate's design. Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine," he sang, voice high and sure. Mother was always in a good mood after Jehan sang, and he turned just enough to see her out of the corner of his eye.   
"Why can't I go outside?"   
"The outside world is a dangerous place, full of horrible, selfish people. You have to stay here where you're safe. Do you understand, flower?"  
Her voice was gentle and Jehan knew with a child's unwavering faith that she would keep him safe.  
"Yes, Mommy."  
But the walls of that tower couldn't hide everything. Each year on Jehan's birthday, the King and Queen released thousands of lanterns into the sky in hope that one day, their lost prince would return. He'd sit for hours at the window, enraptured and secretly hoping the prince never came home.


	3. Chapter 3

The cat leapt on top of one of the many plants on the windowsill, sliding behind the pot. The shutters flew apart and Jehan burst out.   
"Ha!" he cried, chest heaving. He glanced around, immediately spotting the gray kitten.   
"Well... Hmm, I guess Henri isn't hiding out here..." He shrugged, smiling, and let the doors close slightly as he turned away. The cat padded back inside, proud of himself. He only had a second to bask in his victory before Jehan scooped him back up. He mewed, startled.   
"That's twenty-two for me... How about twenty-three out of forty-five?"   
Henri slumped and mewed again.   
"Fine, what do you want to do?"   
He lifted a tiny black paw to point outwards at the vine-covered rocks and forest somewhere beyond the mountain walls. Jehan laughed, an edge of bitterness in his voice, and perched on the edge of the windowsill.   
"Yeah... I don't think so," he said as he lifted Henri into his lap. "I like it in here, and so do you."   
Henri hissed, ears flattening.   
"Come on, Henri, it's not so bad in there." He smiled fondly and swung himself back inside with a practiced ease. Running across the clean stone tiles, he clambered up the wood rafters. Holding his hair in his hands like a rope, he swung it up to yank open the skylight, filling the chamber with the bright summer sun. Jehan leapt down with a cat's grace.   
"Chore time, Henri!" he called, twirling to fetch the broom from its corner. It wasn't hard, then, to polish the already-spotless and shiny-slick tiles. After the laundry had been hung to dry, the china had been polished, and the floors had been swept again, an hour had passed.   
"Time for a break!"   
The kitten, lying in a warm patch of sunlight, stood and stretched as Jehan pulled one of his favorite poetry collections off the shelf.   
He knew the words by heart, really, but it was the motivation he needed to retouch some of the more sun-faded poems on his wall. The words spread across the stone in every color of the rainbow on every topic imaginable, from his clumsy childhood works to the grand pieces covering the round stone chamber in his flowing handwriting.   
He scribbled down a few song lyrics, strumming along on his well-worn guitar, before tiring and baking a pie with the berries Mother had brought home a few days earlier. 

There was one empty space Jehan had promised himself years ago, just over the fireplace. It would be his crowning achievement, he knew, and there were countless drafts of the poem scattered through the room. He'd sworn to write it on his eighteenth birthday- the year, he hoped, he'd be able to see the lanterns for himself. That would add a beauty to his perfect poem that no tower view would ever be able to capture.   
But who was starting a day early going to hurt? 

By the time Mother was due home, Jehan had worn himself weary brushing his hair (and writing, and reading, and playing chess with himself).   
"Henri, when is my life actually going to start? Tomorrow, they'll light the lanterns like they do every year on my birthday. What would it be like to be there, to really see them? I'm almost eighteen, Mother might let me go..."


	4. Chapter 4

Montparnasse skidded down the steep rooftop feet-first, one hand clutching his bag and the other behind him for balance. Close behind him were Jean-Michel and Christophe, making up what they lacked in speed with grace. It wasn't hard to move from high city roof to high city roof, until they found the one they were looking for. Montparnasse, clinging to a stone parapet, watched an oblivious guard cross the street below him.  His gaze traveled upwards and he was transfixed. The kingdom was spread beneath him like a collection of toys, people bustling about unaware. Beyond the sparkling blue lake laid the thick forest and unexplored mountains. 

 "I could get used to a view like this," he mused, stepping back.

 "Come on!"   
Montparnasse could feel the other two glaring daggers.

 "I've decided. I want a castle."

 "We do this job right and you can buy your own castle," Christophe snarled, yanking Montparnasse back by the collar.  It wasn't a hard job, really. The sun-patterned ceiling tiles were simple enough to lift off, and Montparnasse was light enough that it was easy for the others to lower him directly over the dead prince's delicate crown, sitting on a stand.  One of the guards sneezed loudly.

 "Mm. Hay fever?" Montparnasse asked, unable to resist. 

"Yeah," the guard laughed, rubbing his nose before- "Hey!"

 But Montparnasse was already clambering out onto the roof.

 "Can't you picture me in my own castle?" he asked as he ran past Jean-Michel and Christophe. "Because I certainly can. All the things we've seen and it's only eight in the morning! Gentlemen, this is a very big day."


	5. Chapter 5

"This is it!" Jehan commented to Henri. "This is a very big day, Henri. I'm finally going to do it! I'm going to ask her."  
"Jean! Jean, let down your hair!"   
"It's time!" he whispered, giddy, to the kitten perched in the crook of his arm. "Come on, come on!"   
"Jean? I'm not getting any younger down here!" Mother called in her sickly sweet sing-song tone that meant she was getting cross.   
"Coming, Mother!"   
He swung his hair over the hook in the window and let it fall to the ground.   
"Hi," he panted as she stepped inside. "Welcome home, Mother."   
"Ugh, Jean, how you manage to do that every single day without fail... It looks absolutely exhausting, darling." She placed a hand on his shoulder and caressed his cheek.   
"Oh," he laughed breathlessly. "It's nothing."   
"Then I don't know why it takes so long!" She laughed as his face fell. "Oh, darling, I'm just teasing."   
"Alright." He turned, heart hammering in his chest, to follow her as she strode to the mirror. "So, Mother, as you know, tomorrow is a very big day-"  
"Oh, Jean, look at that. You know what I see?" She pulled him to the mirror so they were standing side-by-side. "I see a strong, confident, beautiful young person."  
He smiled, flattered, until her face lit with the same mocking glee it always had.   
"Oh, look! You're there too." His face fell. "I'm just teasing, stop taking everything so seriously!"  
"Okay. So, Mother, as I was saying, tomorrow is-"  
"Jean, Mother is feeling a little worn down... Would you sing for me, dear?" she asked as she rubbed her face in the mirror. "Then we'll talk."   
"Oh! Of course, Mother." Jehan hurried to fetch the stool, rushing through the song fast enough to render it almost unintelligible.   
"Ugh, Jean-"  
"So earlier I was saying," he burst in quickly, "tomorrow is a pretty big day and you didn't really respond, so I'm just gonna tell you, it's my birthday! Uh, tada!"  
"No, no, no, it can't be. I distinctly remember your birthday being last year." There was that patronizing lilt in her voice again.   
"That's the funny thing about birthdays, they're kind of an annual thing."   
He sat, looking up at her. "Mother, I’m turning eighteen, and I wanted to ask, uh, what I really want for this birthday… Actually what I really wanted for quite a few birth–want for my birth–"   
His cheeks flamed as he fumbled for the words.   
"Okay, Jean, please, stop with the mumbling. You know how I feel about the mumbling– blah-blah-blah-blah, it’s very annoying, I’m just teasing, you’re adorable, I love you so much, darling. Ah."   
Henri butted against his leg as she walked away  
"Agh. I want to see the floating lights!"  
"Uh-huh. What?" She turned, clearly not listening.   
"Oh. Well, I was hoping you would take me to see the floating lights."   
"Oh. You mean the stars."  
"That’s the thing. I’ve charted stars for years and they’re always constant– but these–they appear every year on my birthday, Mother, always on my birthday. And I can’t help but feel like they’re… they’re meant for me. I need to see them, Mother, and not just from my window. In person. I have to know what they are."  
"You want to go outside? Why, Jean!" She slammed the windows shut. "Look how fragile you are! You're still just a child. You know why I keep you up here, it's to keep you safe. I guess I always saw this coming, I knew you'd want to leave me. Not yet, though. Trust me." She yanked the curtains closed, plunging the room into darkness. "Listen to me, it's terrifying out there." She tugged his hair, making him yelp. "There's ruffians, monsters, cannibals, murderers, men with pointed teeth- oh, Jean, I could go on! You won't make it alone. You're sloppy, underdressed, unsure, clumsy-" another, harder yank at his hair, sending him to the ground- "believe me, you won't last a day. Gullible, childish, ditzy, hmm... Vague, even? Plus, you're putting on a little weight- I'm just telling you because I love you! I'm only here to help, just so long as you promise never to ask to leave this tower again."  
Jehan sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to get a word in edgewise.   
"Yes, Mother."   
She pushed his hair behind his ears, holding him close. "I love you very much, dear."   
"I love you more," he repeated in the familiar ritual."   
She kissed his forehead.   
"I love you most."

She waved from the ground.   
"I'll be back soon, flower!"   
"I'll be here," he said, too softly for her to hear, as he stared after her. The gentle wind that lifted his hair out around him like a halo teased him into believing, just for a second, that it would carry him out into the world if he leapt from the only room he'd ever known. 


	6. Chapter 6

The forest across the river was thick and dark. It'd be the perfect place to hide if it weren't littered with wanted posters.   
A poster was nailed to the large tree Montparnasse stopped to rest against, and he stared at it as he tried to catch his breath. A mockery of what was clearly intended to be his face stared back at him, distorted and grotesque.   
"Oh, no no no no no. This is bad, this is very bad. This is really, really bad," he babbled, tearing it from the tree and staring at it, shocked. Jean-Michel and Christophe stared at him, hands braced on their knees.   
He turned it to face them, stricken.   
"They just can't get my nose right!"  
The look of alarm on their faces faded.   
"Who cares?"   
"That's easy for you to say! They always get you guys right."   
A horse whinnied from the cliff above them, officer pulling up short on the edge.   
He turned as soon as he caught sight of them, gesturing with his sword. The horse went careening back down the hill and Montparnasse could do nothing but run.   
They fled through the woods for just a few more turns before coming up against a stark cliff face, boxed in by rock on either side.   
"Um. Alright, okay, give me a boost and I'll pull you up."   
"Give us the satchel first," Christophe ordered. Montparnasse clutched at the bag, fumbling for words.   
"I just–I can’t believe that after all we’ve been through together, you don’t trust me?"  
Christophe raised an eyebrow and Montparnasse reluctantly handed it over.   
"Ouch."   
He clambered up the rock face with relative ease.   
"Now help us up, pretty boy."   
"Sorry." Montparnasse grinned and waved the satchel in the air, triumphant. "My hands are full."   
"What? Montparnasse!"  
Montparnasse tore through the woods, running as quickly as he could even as the thundering hooves got louder and louder.   
"Retrieve that satchel at any cost!" one of the guards near the front called. The rest echoed him with a prompt "Yes sir!"  
A fallen tree blocked all but one of them, the horse chasing with renewed speed. Montparnasse, desperate, leapt onto a rope hanging from a tree just ahead of him. The force carried him around and he slammed into the horse's rider. The world was careening crazily but there was another rope, this one soft leather, in his hands and he instinctually held on.   
The horse stopped short as soon as it realized its rider had changed. It snorted, turning to look at Montparnasse.   
"Come on, forward!" he pleaded. The horse stared at the bag clutched in his hand before snapping viciously at it. He yanked it out from between its clacking teeth.  
"No!"  
It snapped again, teeth closing just inches from his hand on the strap.   
"No! Stop it, stop it! Give it to me- give me that!"   
The horse reared up on its back legs, forcing a startled Montparnasse to let go of the bag at the same time the horse did, sending it flying. It landed in the uppermost branches of a tree precariously balanced over a steep cliff leading into a sealed-off valley.  
He leapt off the horse and ran for the bag, forgetting how close it was to tipping in his desperation. The horse, clearly having had the same idea, leapt onto the tree. Under their combined weight, it snapped- but not before Montparnasse could secure the satchel around one shoulder. He landed heavily in a patch of grass, pain searing through one side of his body. He crawled behind a wall of vines into a cave, breathing hard. The hoofbeats, loud on the hard ground, faded into the distance. He turned, peering into the cave to find light on the other side. Cautiously, he edged through the narrow entrance into a breathtaking valley. It was small and circular, surrounded by steep faces of gray rock not unlike the one he'd tumbled down. A small, clear stream tumbled from a waterfall through the lush grass and in the center sat a single tower with a large, circular chamber crowning the vine-encrusted walls. The tower was illuminated by sunlight but most of the valley's floor was shaded by the bleak rock.   
There was a loud neigh from just beyond the cave's vine covering, reminding Montparnasse why he was there at all. Desperate, he felt around for- arrows! Not perfect, but it would let him climb the tower walls without spending time hunting for a hidden door.   
The chamber had a window thrown wide open and, grateful, Montparnasse clambered through and landed, panting, on the floor.   
He sighed with relief and took off the satchel, opening it to gaze at the tiara inside.   
"Alone at last."  
Searing pain split his vision in half and then everything went black.


	7. Chapter 7

A man leapt through the tower windows and slammed them shut, tumbling into Jehan's room. He cast his eyes around the room and spotted a frying pan sitting on the stove. He leapt for it, padded up behind him, and cracked it hard across the back of his head. He let out a high cry and hid behind the dress form instinctively. When he peered out behind it, the man was still lying prone on the floor. He edged over to him and prodded gingerly at his head with the pan.   
Nothing.   
Mother's words in his head rang from earlier and, as a precaution, Jehan turned the man's head with the edge of of the pan and used the handle to lift his upper lip.   
Smooth, dull teeth. Jehan frowned, wondering if he'd just hurt the only new person he'd ever seen, and pushed a lock of hair from the man's face. His shoulders slumped and he stared, transfixed, at the severe jaw and high cheekbones. His eyes snapped open, a pretty shade of blue, and Jehan, startled, swung the frying pan at his head again.   
Mother would be home any time and Jehan had to get rid of him somehow. He looked around the room until his eyes lit on the old wardrobe.   
It was no easy task to fit him in- he was limp, much taller than Jehan, and quite heavy- but the wardrobe doors held fast with a chair propped under the handles.   
"Okay, okay, okay, I’ve got a person in my closet." He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, wide-eyed, and couldn't look away. "I’ve got a person in my closet. I’ve got a person in my closet!" He beamed. "Haha! Too weak to handle myself out there, huh, mother? Well… tell that to my frying pan," he laughed as he swung it, narrowly avoiding hitting himself in the head.   
The satchel sat behind him, something inside it glistening in the sunlight. Jehan pulled it out- a slim metal circle. Three pointed diamonds sat at the front, surrounded by smaller rubies and sapphires. He admired it, twisting it to catch the light, and put it around his wrist. It hung from his slim arm comically and he let it drop off. He turned, looking at it in the mirror again, and slowly placed it on top of his head.   
It was perfect, and Jehan felt something shift somewhere in his chest.   
"Jean!"   
Mother's cry startled him from his reverie, and he stuffed both the crown and satchel into a nearby jar. "Let down your hair!"  
"One moment, Mother!"   
"I have a big surprise!"   
"Uh, I do too!"  
"I bet my surprise is bigger!"   
"I... Seriously doubt it," he laughed nervously, quietly enough that she wouldn't hear.   
"I brought back parsnips. I’m going to make hazelnut soup for dinner, your favorite. Surprise!" Mother said as she came in.   
"Well mother, there’s something I want to tell you-"  
"Oh, Jean, you know I hate leaving you after a fight. Especially when I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong."  
"Okay, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you’ve said earlier-"  
"I hope you’re not still talking about the stars."  
"Floating lights, and, yes, I’m leading up to that, and-"   
Jehan approached the chair as he spoke, ready to reveal the strange man in the wardrobe.   
"Because I really thought we dropped the issue, sweetheart."  
"No, Mother, I’m just saying, you think I’m not strong enough to handle myself out there."  
"Oh, darling, I know you’re not strong enough to handle yourself out there."   
"But if you just–"  
"Jean, we’re done talking about this–"  
"Trust me–"  
"Jean–"   
"I know what I’m saying–"  
He put his hand on the chair, not willing to wait for her.  
"Jean–"  
"Oh, come on-"  
"Enough of the lights, Jean! You are not leaving this tower! Ever!"   
Jehan's heart skipped a beat and he let his hand drop from the chair.   
Mother sighed, rage dissipating. She dropped into the chair, head in hand.   
"Ugh, great. Now I'm the bad guy."  
Jehan glanced at his unfinished poem, then the chair.   
"All I was going to say, Mother, is... I know what I want for my birthday now," he said softly.   
"And what is that."  
It wasn't so much a question as an acknowledgement that he'd spoken but Jehan barged forwards anyways.   
"New ink. The ink made from the white plants you once brought me."  
"Well, that is a very long trip, Jean." She was still irritated, picking her head up enough to glare at him. "Almost three days time."   
"I just thought," he managed, "it was a better idea than... stars."   
Mother sighed and stood, coming over to where Jehan was standing and trying not to tremble too obviously.   
"Ugh. You're sure you'll be alright on your own?"   
Jehan hugged her tightly.   
"I know I'm safe as long as I'm here."   
She kissed his forehead.   
"I'll be back in three days time. I love you very much, dear."  
"I love you more."  
"I love you most."  
She waved as she vanished through the cave Jehan knew was the way out and guilt settled like a stone in his stomach as he walked to the closet. Frying pan in hand, he pulled the chair away and waited behind it. When it became clear the man wasn't awake, he grabbed the end of his hair and threw it to wind around the handles, then he pulled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall I'm so sorry I haven't updated I didn't think anyone liked this


	8. Chapter 8

Montparnasse woke up suddenly. He had fallen asleep sitting down, apparently, and needed to get up and get out before anyone realized he had the satchel. Something held him down, pinning him to the seat-  
"Is this... Hair?"   
Meters and meters of thick coppery hair wound around his body and the rest of the chamber like rope. He followed it up into the ceiling to find an impossibly small boy crouched in the shadowed rafters holding a frying pan like a weapon.   
"Struggling- struggling is pointless!"   
He leapt down, hiding behind a pair of curtains framing a door. "I know why you're here, and I'm not- afraid of you," he panted.   
"What?" Montparnasse asked incredulously.   
He stepped out into the light, straightening himself up to reveal oversized green eyes and plump lips. He looked nothing short of regal and, oh, Montparnasse was really very good at finding the worst times to fall in love.   
"Who are you, and how did you find me?"  
Montparnasse let out a strangled noise. The boy raised the pan threateningly.   
"Who are you, and how did you find me?" he repeated slowly.  
He cleared his throat, sensing an opportunity to escape.   
"I know not who you are, nor how I came to find you, but may I just say... Hi. How you doing? The name's Montparnasse. How's your day going?" He smirked.   
"Who else knows my location, Montparnasse?"  
"Alright, gingersnap-"  
"Jehan."  
"Bless you. Here’s the deal. I was in a situation, gallivanting through the forest. I came across your tower and… oh no… where is my satchel?"  
"Somewhere you'll never find it."   
Montparnasse glanced around the room for likely hiding places.   
"It's in that pot, isn't it?"  
The frying pan came down again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is totally done I just never post bc my life is in shambles


End file.
